What is it about hot weather that turns me into a closeted, sexual predator?

For Desire | Kim Addonizio

Give me the strongest cheese, the one that stinks best;
and I want the good wine, the swirl in crystal
surrendering the bruised scent of blackberries,
or cherries, the rich spurt in the back
of the throat, the holding it there before swallowing.
Give me the lover who yanks open the door
of his house and presses me to the wall
in the dim hallway, and keeps me there until I'm drenched
and shaking, whose kisses arrive by the boatload
and begin their delicious diaspora
through the cities and small towns of my body.
To hell with the saints, with martyrs
of my childhood meant to instruct me
in the power of endurance and faith,
to hell with the next world and its pallid angels
swooning and sighing like Victorian girls.
I want this world. I want to walk into
the ocean and feel it trying to drag me along
like I'm nothing but a broken bit of scratched glass,
and I want to resist it. I want to go
staggering and flailing my way
through the bars and back rooms,
through the gleaming hotels and weedy
lots of abandoned sunflowers and the parks
where dogs are let off their leashes
in spite of the signs, where they sniff each
other and roll together in the grass, I want to
lie down somewhere and suffer for love until
it nearly kills me, and then I want to get up again
and put on that little black dress and wait
for you, yes you, to come over here
and get down on your knees and tell me
just how fucking good I look

Anger can be extremely powerful/empowering.

Everyone should do a video blog entry right about now.
When in motion, comedic value is so much more priceless!

Should we all confess our sins to one another we would all laugh at one another for our lack of originality. Should we all reveal our virtues we would also laugh for the same reason.


-Khalil Gibran, Sand and Foam

To the fuckface who hacked into my journal and replaced my user icon with a virginal, Japanese schoolgirl's face and then switched it back:

Really? You want to hack into my journal?
I guess I should feel somewhat flattered if this all didn't feel so anti-climatic.


An icon change, you have to admit, is a bit pathetic.

A very cool music video I encountered through mr_ron's LJ:





The song conveys my current situation so dreamily.

This dance is rocking my Friday.





And here is a dance that was performed in a major dance competition/performance in Beijing. The guy has only one leg and the girl lost her arm in a car accident. Rather than the emotional pull of the performance done by these remarkable dancers, I am struck by the riveting aesthetic visuals that are created as their unconventional bodies dance a picture. It's like a painting/story flourishing right before your eyes. I'm fascinated by it.





I can watch people dance forever.

This girl's photography is amazing.



We are our flyers' wings by *iNeedChemicalX on deviantART

Outdoor skating rink at Pershing Square.








....And the song that is ringing in the theme of my 2009:



Metric - Help, I'm Alive

This YouTube addition is here because, let's face it, we are all weak for the Gap empire with its kitchy holiday jingle ads. Plus, I think Selma Blair kind of has a predatory, zombie sex appeal at the beginning of this video. Rainn Wilson is, well, Dwight Schrute.




I'm a cheeseball time to time.

My journal is slowly burning out. Not in the fiery, blazing fashion either. The interest and activity of the whole LJ realm seems to be on the decline for a while now, it seems. It's become extremely difficult to engage myself through written discourse for the time being. Although, reading every single entry from you fine folks is always a constant and pleasurable/visceral indulgence of mine.

That's why my little interactive request may go unheeded, but I'm going to give it a shot anyway.



I want to know the ugly truths. Particularly yours. I was never a fan, nor a skilled operator in "shooting the breeze" or mastering small talk. I'm not into the masks, superficial veneers, and pragmatic, enforced social etiquette. This is all a flagrant hypocrisy/contradiction to the very nature and essence I conduct and restrain myself in, but that's all the more reason why I fiercely, nay, quite savagely appreciate the bittersweet exposure. It is the ultimate conduit of connecting with someone for me.

I consider it the greatest of conquests when I become my own blasphemy.

I possess no right, entitlement, nor self-prescribed level of trust to demand ugly truths (or simply truths) from you. I leave any revelations up to you entirely. Again, posting anonymously is always an available option.


The purpose for this request is considerably for selfish motives. I don't like listening to other people's personal suffering, pain, deviances, mind-fuckery, etc. to make myself feel better about my life - to be affirmed that I've got it together more than most. No.

My ugly truth:
I request this to get my fix. I horde these tremulous and raw innards in a lavish treasure cove inside my exasperating, cryptic soul. I tuck each blood, sweat beads and teardrops into a bloody, sweaty, teary, fleshy fold of my own. Each jiggling bit regarded as something sacred and divine. It's never seen in a destructive, manipulative, nor perverse light. At least, not in my eyes - I'm sure an outsider may consider otherwise. It's a source of luminous beauty, inspiration and empowerment. It's an intoxicating ambrosia - an addictive substance of epic proportions. I need it. I crave it. I'm a soul-sucking leech who would only like to feed on the meatiest component of your being.

It's lightning. It's Pandora's box. It's a holy miracle.
It makes me feel alive the most.


And the catch is this: I seek to provoke/evoke the "ugly" truths from others and treat it as a cherished, fledgling novelty - without ever having to bare, or share the expense of my own. One-sided deal. The reasons for this need becomes obvious now.




Still want to share?

C'mon, I dare you.

Earlier in November, I braved the cold one night to attend a preview showing of Danny Boyle's new flick:



Slumdog Millionaire


Brief synopsis (courtesy of IMDB): The story of Jamal Malik (Patel), an 18 year-old orphan from the slums of Mumbai, who is about to experience the biggest day of his life. With the whole nation watching, he is just one question away from winning a staggering 20 million rupees on India's "Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?" But when the show breaks for the night, police arrest him on suspicion of cheating; how could a street kid know so much? Desperate to prove his innocence, Jamal tells the story of his life in the slum where he and his brother grew up, of their adventures together on the road, of vicious encounters with local gangs, and of Latika (Pinto), the girl he loved and lost. Each chapter of his story reveals the key to the answer to one of the game show's questions. Each chapter of Jamal's increasingly layered story reveals where he learned the answers to the show's seemingly impossible quizzes. But one question remains a mystery: what is this young man with no apparent desire for riches really doing on the game show? When the new day dawns and Jamal returns to answer the final question, the Inspector and sixty million viewers are about to find out. At the heart of its exuberant storytelling lies the intriguing question of how anyone comes to know the things they know about life and love.



This film is already a critic and audience darling and I greatly anticipated the opening night of its preview showing in the Bing Theater at LACMA. The film was very good, but different from what I expected. The tone of the film went more in favor of an unexpected direction for me. It has already won the Best Film of the Year title from the National Board of Review of Motion Picture (NBRMP) and I suspect it will be a contender for the Oscars. It is only open in a very limited number of theaters, so I hope if any of you partake an interest in seeing the movie, there will be a nearby theater to accommodate you. I highly recommend it.

Stick around when the credits roll so that you can catch a zesty Bollywood dance done by the cast and I think about .00001% of the Mumbai population.



LACMA has also gone under extensive renovations these past few years and have recently opened up a new building for contemporary art, BCAM (Broad Contemporary Art Museum). Several large-scale sculptural installations are featured with the completed construction of this building. One of the most charming pieces that were installed was a sculpture by Chris Burden, called Urban Light. This piece incorporated more than two hundred restored cast-iron lampposts from Los Angeles County. Perhaps the most interesting detail about this installation was that it was done by a performance artist (Burden) who did such performances as getting shot in the arm by his assistant, being crucified on top of a VW Beetle in Venice Beach (with real nailing of the hands) and starving himself deliberately in museums/exhibitions for many days to showcase "personal danger as artistic expression". He decided on the route of whimsy this time around. Versatility is always an appreciative quality to have in any artist, right?

It made the Miracle Mile look enchanting.


And a photographic gem:



( Nights of the Past )

Starring Jack Black, John C. Reilly, Margaret Cho, and many more...

See more Jack Black videos at Funny or Die

NOTE: I saw this video without sound (I won't be able to listen to it until I get home tonight). But the video, in mute, is just as entertaining to watch. I'll leave it up to you if the musical was funny/good on this fine Thursday.

Northern California, here I come!

One of the few things I know about writing is this: shoot it, play it, lose it, all, right away, every time. Do not hoard what seems good for a later place in the book, or for another book; give it, give it all, give it now. The impulse to save something good for a better place later is the signal to spend it now. Something more will arise later, something better. These things fill in from behind, from beneath, like well water. Similarly, the impulse to keep to yourself what you have learned is not only shameful, it is destructive. Anything you do not give freely and abundantly becomes lost to you. You open your safe and find ashes.

~ The Writing Life
Annie Dillard


Boy, is my safe full of ashes.


It's time.

Which costume should I do?


a) Joe's Crab Shack girl from this commercial:



Complete with a handmade t-shirt that will say "I Heart Crabs", a bib that says "Crabby", and an actual crab I will have killed, purchased, eaten deliciously, and then carefully excavate a claw to paste on my forehead. Yes, that's right, animals will be harmed in the making of my costume with the very likely chance of looking like an idiot from an little known commercial. Fortunately, I find pathetic humor out of people who go, "What the eff are you supposed to be?" It validates and enforces my ever-growing cool factor.


OR


b) A glam rock 80s girl. Terribly original, I know. I'm just mainly looking forward to crimping my hair and looking like a bona fide tramp on our fine public transit system with many, many scary, batty, stinky, and lecherous men.

What should I be for Halloween?